Getting things straight
by hobgoblin123
Summary: Two men who are definitely NOT bi, may God beware, one idea to prove that they are still steering a straight course. But as usual the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and the plan backfires. Vryce/OC, Tarrant/OC, slash Tarrant/Vryce Nothing too outrageous, but still definitely M


**Getting things straight**

Warnings: Het and Slash, oral sex (twice). I know I promised to behave, but I promised myself a lot of things. Don't write porn, a death scene or quite the contrary: somebody having a baby. Well, let's just say I've broken all my promises now... Actually I'm not sure which of the latter scenarios is worse... For the author, of course;-). Nothing as crass here, just the aforementioned.

Author's note 1: This fic is part of a much longer one currently on hiatus because of a very bad case of convergent evolution. Started roundabout two years ago it featured Damien's daughter, a red haired Geraldine, who wanted to get married… Sigh! Nevertheless this chapter can be read as a standalone. Sometime in the future I will fix the issue and post the whole story, if only for the scene when Gerald gets caught plundering their strawberry jam stocks in the middle of the night by Damien (and the highly creative use of the remaining jam…).

Author's note 2: I'm definitely _not_ prejudiced against prostitutes. In fact one of my dearest friends used to work in the trade…

Author's note3: Eliza and her terrible accent (please, native speakers, don't strangle me) are of course a tribute to G.B. Shaw's famous flower girl Eliza Doolittle.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

While the youth descended from Black Ridge Pass Damien tried to sort out his feelings, still digesting the information he had just received from a man he had presumed dead for weeks. Relief, certainly, his grief at the loss of a treasured friend slowly dissolving into a tangle of emotions he couldn't quite place, and pure joy at the amazing grace the Lord had shown this lost soul, offering his fallen prophet another precious chance at redemption.

An impossible, unexpected friend, that's what Tarrant had become to him over the last months, or so he told himself. Strangely, though, watching that slender figure moving gracefully down the steps, some stubborn strands of black hair which had escaped the waist-length braid swaying slightly in the breeze, the long legs tightly encased in black leather pants, altogether different feelings erupted inside him and made him blink.

There had been rather disconcerting dreams concerning Tarrant before, dreams which had very often left him in a state of feverish arousal, but Damien had managed to write them off as one of the Hunter's diabolic tricks, trying to corrupt him by whatever means possible.

This was different now. The Hunter and his hellish trappings had died on Shaitan, and as far as he knew Gerald Tarrant, the Neocount of Merentha, had only been attracted to women in his mortal life. Vulking hell, the bastard had been married and sired three children, so why should the youth want to provoke some uncouth feelings in him? Besides the unknown, yet so familiar young man hadn't shown any inclination of renewing their acquaintance, but had wandered off into his new life without looking back. Damn him!

Suddenly Damien laughed, utterly relieved. There was nothing frightening about the surge of arousal he had just felt: his body had been denied any kind of sexual activity for a long time now while Gerald and he had been busy with saving the world. Frightened out of his wits, wrecked with bone-deep exhaustion and half starved his libido had gone into hibernation for a while, but now, with some rest and sufficient food his body was awakening again, and Gerald's unfamiliar petite prettiness had tricked him for a minute. That had to be the explanation for his wholly inappropriate feelings. Why on Earth and Erna should he want to bed a man?

In a heartbeat Damien decided to get things straight again. Catering for the tourists' needs who still poured to Black Ridge Pass gloating over the incineration of the Hunter's accursed domain varying establishments had been literally stamped from the ground, ranging from hotels and restaurants which hardly deserved the name to gambling halls and brothels, populated by the more adventurous ladies working in the oldest profession of the world who had been drawn to this thriving boom town not only from Jaggonath but from all over the country. Usually he wasn't inclined to spending his precious coins for the sins of the flesh, but in a way this was a case of emergency. With a mental shrug Vryce followed the youth's footsteps.

After a bath and a shave in his hotel room Damien decided to try his luck at the Red Rose, one of the more decent establishments for the well-off clientele, stuffed to the brim with the usual plush interior and scarcely clad, bleary eyed women. Apparently the tourists had once again celebrated their occasional demon shooting and the Hunter's demise in their own fashion, and last night seemed to have been more than slightly busy. The air was still heavy with stale smoke and cheap perfume, and for an instant a surge of revulsion washed over Damien, but then his eyes fell on a pretty young woman in a red silk dress, her skin warm honey and her straight, long hair black as true night. Feeling his gaze she smiled and came to his side, her head just reaching to his shoulders.

"My name is Lara, Honey." Her voice was as warm as her skin, her dark eyes welcoming, and no more words were necessary. Lara took Damien's hand and led him upstairs.

What had been supposed to clean his system from strange urges soon evolved into a deeply depressing, completely unsatisfactory enterprise which made Vryce wish he had spend his money on a good meal instead. Try as he might his body flatly refused to do its duty for the first time in his life, and by now Lara's velvet voice contained a trace more acid than syrup. With a sigh of exasperation the young woman flung a gown around her shoulders and made for the door to get a bottle of wine, "to help you relax, Honey".

Evidently not bothering with questions of privacy or modesty Lara had left the door slightly ajar, and when the young woman bumped into one of her colleagues on the corridor and the two women started chattering Damien listened to their talk, idly at first, but then with rising interest.

"'Ave just been for little girls. Still not finished, luv?" The shrill voice dripped with mock pity, and Damien wanted to throttle her.

"No, he's not up to it", Lara replied, her voice hushed. "Maybe it's a sickness. Poor man. He's not _that_ old."

By now a fuming Damien had to restrain himself from throttling both women, and he got up and started dressing. A malicious giggle penetrated the fog of his wrath, and in spite of himself Vryce pricked up his ears again. "Be careful that ye don't catch a bug, luv. Ye get strange customers these days."

"What about yours, Eliza?"

"The nutcase who doesn't want to be touched?" the woman chuckled. "Such a pretty boy, but batty as a bat, if ye ask me. Doesn't want to sully 'imself with us lasses. 'Ow am I supposed to finish 'im off without touching?"

Now Vryce's curiosity was seriously piqued and hearing Lara's footsteps descending the stairs he waited for an endless minute before tiptoeing to the room next door and peeping through the keyhole, something he hadn't done since his childhood and wouldn't have thought possible an hour ago. When his mind finally processed what he saw his jaw dropped, and he couldn't help but stare.

The young man from Black Ridge Pass was leaning against the opposite wall, his head almost touching the window frame. Golden rays of sunlight were playing over the youthful face and glistening in the black hair, and the piercing dark eyes Damien remembered so well from their first encounter were closed to shut out the world. The black leather pants had been unlaced and pulled down a bit to give the kneeling woman some access, but otherwise the youth was fully dressed, his red silk shirt not even unbuttoned, the only connection between the two bodies the hot mouth on hungry flesh.

In a blinding instant Damien's own arousal returned with a vengeance, and he wasn't even aware that his sword hand wandered downwards to the bulge inside his trousers while he panted like a man who'd just finished a long distance run.

Suddenly the black eyes snapped open, and Vryce staggered back a few steps under the impact of the knowing gaze which seemed to burn through the solid alteroak wood. The former priest flushed with embarrassment. What madness had come over him to spy on the young man like that, for heaven's sake? Certainly he had no right.

Damien was just about turning on the spot when a commanding voice inside his head stopped him dead in his tracks_. Come in, Vryce! _For a moment he felt rebellious; he was no dog to be called and sent away on his owner's will, but in truth he wouldn't have been able to resist the beckoning call even if it had meant his own life. Slowly, taking a deep breath to steady his rattled nerves, Damien opened the door.

The enticing tableau hadn't changed: the youth's back was still against the wall, the whore's head moving rhythmically, but the young man was staring at the former priest now with a mixture of borderline panic and naked want which took Vryce's breath away.

_Don't speak, Damien! Just look at me!_

Damien obeyed, biting his lips. Speaking would have been slightly difficult, anyway, with his mouth as dry as the great desert and his tongue feeling like a veritable clump of lead, and concerning the _'just look at me'_ part he had actually never been given an easier task. In fact the patriarch could have danced a jig right under his nose, in stockings and garters, without him ever noticing. Even on pain of death Damien couldn't have forced his gaze away from the hungry eyes dominating the pretty face, Gerald's face, all doubts shattered by the sudden reactivation of the link. He just stood there and watched, enthralled, eyes and mind locked with his former companion, while the adept's breath sped up and his muscles tensed.

_DAMIEN! _One of the slender hands came up, not quite in time to stifle a faint moan, and when Gerald's knees gave in Damien was there to catch him, pulling him into a tight embrace. For a moment the adept relaxed against him, held on to him while he tried to catch his breath, but then he pushed back the priest with surprising strength, pulled up his trousers and stormed out of the room with a scowl which would have made many a brave man blanch with horror, leaving behind two utterly bewildered people.

"Always the same with yer fine people", Eliza shrieked at the top of her lungs, "loads of money and bad manners! I've 'ad it with yer weirdos!" The unnerving voice cut through Damien's stupor who still wasn't able to digest what had just happened. By now his own knees were shaking, and he hoped fervently that no more revelations would be sprung on him until he had been able to get over the day's events, but first he had to leave this miserable place to find some peace and quiet.

To Damien's embarrassment the commotion had drawn a fair amount of highly interested spectators, including a towering, bald bloke who, apparently blessed with more muscles than brains, was supposed to protect the women if a customer got too rough. The brute moved closer threateningly, and the warrior knight groaned. He didn't really need a brawl in a whorehouse on top of his misfortune.

A generous amount of bucks helped to calm down the situation, and Vryce gratefully made for the exit, just to find himself face to face with a smiling Lara. "You could have told me that you're into boys, Honey." Her voice was gentle again, seductive, but Damien stared at her in baffled incomprehension. '_Into boys?' _What the bloody hell was she talking about? "It's no crime, you know", she continued, still smiling at him, "we've got several young lads here for men with special tastes, lads as pretty as him. Want to try?"

No, he didn't want to try, most certainly not, and Damien's glare would have made Gerald proud and caused Lara to retreat a step or two. "I'm not into boys! I've never been into boys! Has everybody gone vulking crazy today?"

"But it's not healthy to suppress one's urges. Don't pretend you didn't want that black haired madman", she pressed on, grinning. "Lizzie told me how you tried to eat him up with your eyes and how that little man inside your trousers came alive." Lara giggled, obviously enjoying herself, and put a hand over his crotch, rubbing him in small circles. "If you need the pretence you can have one of the lads _and _me. A big, strong man like you should be enough for both of us, don't you think so?"

Damien's head felt like exploding. Travelling all over the planet in the Hunter's company had provided him with a well grounded suspicion that the world was a madhouse, but much to his own surprise he found himself wishing to wake up from this nightmare to face a horde of hungry demons. Compared to sorting out his confused feelings dealing with the faeborn was easy: chop off their heads or get eaten. Plain and simple. Mustering all his remaining dignity Damien pulled away her insistent hand and fled with a muttered excuse. He needed time to think!

And thinking was all he did for the following week, accompanied by generous helpings of alcoholic beverages until his head swam and his brain cells waved the white flag of surrender. It was impossible, had to be impossible for the sake of his own sanity. The two whores had been wrong, his body had been wrong, and his mind and soul had to be seriously impaired by the terrible atrocities he had had to witness over the last few years. He cared deeply for Gerald Tarrant and missed the man's company like hell, missed even the adept's amusing vanity and his galling arrogance. That much he was prepared to admit. Period. But desire? No way he desired Tarrant, although he seemed to be condemned to relive the seductive scene at the brothel each and every night, waking up all sticky and panting, but his need still not slaked by the release he found in his dreams. God, if he had only been able to forget the look on Gerald's face when that blasted woman had sucked him, the adept's helpless moan and the feeling of the hot, shaking body in his arms. But he didn't forget, not for one single, blessed minute.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Much to his own surprise Damien found an invitation waiting for him at the small reception of his cheap hotel the following Friday, written neatly on obviously very expensive not paper. _'Meet me on Sunday at 44 Heath Street, twelve o' clock. Gerald Hawthorne.' _That didn't yield much information, and for a drawn out moment which lasted approximately five seconds Damien seriously contemplated to ignore the invitation. During their meeting on Black Ridge Pass the adept had made himself abundantly clear that any connection to his old life would endanger his continuing existence, and so Damien had to tread very carefully. Nonetheless Gerald was very skilled in the art of survival, and if he was indeed ready to take a risk and trust Damien with his life again the former priest was more than ready to play along.

So Vryce, dressed in his most decent clothes and cleanly shaved, found himself knocking at the inconspicuous door of an apparently hastily built, small wooden house in one of the quieter living areas, as far from the seething throng of tourists as possible.

When the adept opened the door Damien's heart stumbled inside his chest, just to pick up its beat at a slightly accelerated pace. "Come in, Vryce." Hawthorne's voice was icily polite, devoid of any warmth, the wall behind his eyes impenetrable, and gritting his teeth Damien followed him inside, wondering what he had done to deserve this kind of greeting from a man he still considered his friend. At the very least.

Gerald led him to a tiny sitting room, sparsely furnished with a leather sofa, an alteroak table stacked with books, and some matching armchairs which seemed to have found their way to Black Ridge Pass from one of the finer shops in Jaggonath. A bottle of expensive red wine and two glasses occupied the limited space in midst of all the books and notes, and Hawthorne offered some of the red liquid which faintly smelled of grapes and blueberries. "Wine, Vryce? It's certainly better than the rubbish offered at the establishment you prefer to frequent."

The voice was still soul chillingly icy, dripping with arrogance, and despite his joy at their reunion Damien felt his hackles rising. Only God knew what he had been expecting from this visit, but certainly he hadn't come here to get insulted by a spoiled brat, not even by a brat who might still live to see his thousandth birthday. Abruptly he got up from the seat he had just occupied a minute ago, his broad shoulders tense and his big, calloused hands balled into fists.

"Who do you think you are, you vulking son of a bitch?" Vryce growled with rising exasperation. "I might not be a priest anymore", t_hanks to you_, "but I'm still a Knight of the Flame and a legate, sent to the Eastern lands by our matriarch. How can you dare to treat me like a bloody beggar?"

By now the warrior knight was rapidly losing control, and decided to leave before something happened he might regret later. He didn't harbour any doubts that Gerald was still able to put up a good fight, but his slender, human body was no match for his bulk. Seething with fury he headed for the door.

"I haven't allowed you to go, Vryce!" Hawthorne's voice hit him like a whip, and it hurt like a whip, shattering his last strands of self control. In a blink Damien was at the adept's side, shaking him until the white teeth clattered.

"You haven't _allowed _me to go?" Damien roared like an angry lion now, but he didn't give a damn. "You impertinent, insufferable arsehole! You...ouch!" Whatever reaction Damien had expected from his former companion he hadn't been prepared for the violent punch to his chin that sent his head flying backwards.

His fury fully unleashed Damien had the former Hunter down in a heartbeat, pinning him to the floor with the sheer weight of his body. Both men stared at each other, their breaths flying, but while all he could manage was to keep his hands off that wretched throat the writhing body under him awakened something nameless inside Damien, something so utterly frightening that all his instincts screamed at him to get up and run for it. Some of his own despair also showed in Gerald's eyes now who dragged his head downwards with an exasperated sigh and kissed him, hard and bruising until Damien's head swam and his heart thundered in his chest.

Both men froze at the same time, staring at each other. "Vryce, we've got a problem."

_A 'problem'? Certainly, and the Novatlantis is a pond, _Damien thought wryly and smiled in spite of himself, his anger cooled down by a notch or two by the open discomfort in Gerald's voice. "Will you tell me now what's eating at you, man, or do I have to shake the answers out of you?"

"I thought I made it quite clear what's '_eating at me'_ a minute ago", the adept replied, his voice trembling slightly. "This was not supposed to happen, Vryce." The dark eyes were closed now, the young face averted, and Damien didn't need the link to sense Hawthorne's embarrassment. "When we met at that miserable house of carnal delights I suspected and invited you here to test my thesis", Gerald continued, still avoiding his gaze, "but somehow I … failed to start with my evaluations."

"You mean you got scared stiff and tried to drive me off with your outrageous behaviour", Damien grinned. That remark earned him a poisonous glare, but no verbal protest, a very telling fact. Apparently Gerald still treasured honesty, although it wasn't necessary anymore to keep him from losing his last traces of humanity. Pushing down his own fears Damien gently touched Hawthorne's cheek. "And what now, Gerald? Shall we put your _thesis_ to a test at last, or would you prefer me to leave you in peace?"

It seemed to take an eternity for Hawthorne to answer, and Damien's heart very nearly stopped beating. Then Gerald swallowed, and a slight tremor passed through his slender frame. "I don't want you to go", he whispered. "Please accept my apologies for behaving like an idiot." This barely audible reply shook Damien to the core, and he started to shiver with an utterly weird mixture of immediate terror and overwhelming desire that left him speechless.

The language of the body doesn't feel the need for words, though, and they never made it to the bed or one of the convenient armchairs. Clothes were swiftly pushed aside, and remembering the alluring scene at the brothel Damien pulled Gerald's trousers down and the wiry body upwards to his mouth, smelling soap and musk and arousal, his hands cradling his lover's buttocks. Mutual enthusiasm more than made up for an understandable lack of experience, and in no time Gerald locked his legs behind the warrior knight's back, his whole body arching into the caress and his nails digging into Vryce's shoulders.

At last Gerald pulled Damien up to face his lover, his eyes still slightly glazed over and his chest heaving for sufficient air to force out some words. "Well, Vryce, as a wise man said a long time ago: 'if you're faced with the impossible you have to accept the improbable'. My turn, now?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo 


End file.
